Action and Consequence
by asomyrcal
Summary: Complete: Oneshot - In progress Dietrich learns that every action has a consequence, an equal and opposing force. But when it’s the Tank Mage, you can never be sure that opposing force won’t force you into submission.


**Title**: Action and Consequence  
**Fandom**: Trinity Blood  
**Pairing**: Isaak x Dietrich  
**Keywords**: Jealousy, high ledge/window, pinnacle of darkness, bloodkink.  
**Synopsis**: Every action has a consequence, an equal and opposing force. But when it's the Tank Mage, you can never be sure that opposing force won't force you into submission…

"When will you give up that puppet of yours, Marionettenspieler?" Cool, smooth velvet greeted the puppetmaster as he emerged from the hidden, underground dungeon. There was nothing but darkness all around, the perfect staging area for the master of shadows, the man who stood half cloaked in the darkness only he could manipulate. A slight smirk curled at Dietrich's lips as he started walking fearlessly into the darkness.

Out of nowhere, a hand materialized, cupping Dietrich's cheek, forcing the puppetmaster to look up. "When will you stop toying around with Flamberg, Dietrich?"

Dietrich's smirk only widened. His fingers curled around Isaak's wrist, but made no move to force his hand away. "So tell me, Panzer Magier, why the sudden visit?" His gaze drifted up to the moon, painted a bloody red against an ebony curtain dotted with stars.

Isaak's gaze followed his. "You're evading the question. But regardless, it's a beautiful night out, puppetmaster. It would be a pity to let it go to waste, no?" He let his hand drop. "Besides, you're taking too long. I thought I would come and get you personally."

Dietrich merely laughed, stepping away from Isaak and continuing further on into the darkness, into a castle he was familiar with, each step confident, sure of the fact that he wouldn't trip or fall in the near pitch black shadows. Isaak, however, had no need for such caution, moving through the darkness with ease. Then, his footsteps stopped, echoing in a long disused stairwell. "Concern, or jealousy, Isaak? Does the fact I'm spending more time with Flamberg annoy you?"

Isaak's face betrayed no expression. Dietrich grinned, and vanished into the stairwell. From the echoing footfalls, the mage could tell that the puppetmaster was heading up, to a place all too familiar to him. This castle should have been familiar to him, in either case. The young man had once told him that he would come here to play in the days of his childhood, memorizing every detail of the castle and each of its numerous winding passages and staircases. The magician faded into the shadows.

"The tower, as always? You're always so predictable." Dietrich heard the flare of a lighter behind him, followed by the faint hint of smoke carried on the wind. He didn't even turn around, as the magician came to stand beside him on the ledge, cigarette in hand.

"The same goes for you, no? You and your ever present cigarettes." The swift reply drew a chuckle from the magician. He let out a breath, blowing out a stream of smoke, smoke which was swept away in the ever constant current of wind. "You never answered my question, magician."

Isaak raised an eyebrow and took another drag on his cigarette. "I don't recall you posing any questions to me."

It was Dietrich's turn to smirk, and in moments, Isaak found himself pinned against the wall, the cigarette which had been clamped firmly between his lips suddenly gone, vanished quite mysteriously and making their reappearence between the puppetmaster's fingers. Lips brushed against Isaak's ear.

"Liar."

Isaak smirked as well, fingers suddenly wrapping around Dietrich's neck and squeezing slightly, enough to elicit a cough from the puppetmaster. "Challenging me now, are you?" The pressure on his neck increased ever so slightly. Isaak's other hand found Dietrich's, reclaiming the cigarette from him, then gripping his hand in a crushing grip. Dietrich didn't answer, not in a verbal manner. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. There was a defiant glint in his hazel eyes, and it was with that gaze with which he met the magician's. "Now choosing to be defiant in your silence, eh? I believe we can do something about it..."

Shadows enveloped the pair, carrying them back to a more familiar environment. Dietrich felt the warmth of a bed against his back, and Isaak's weight pinning him down. Eyes not yet adjusted to the light squinted up to see the magician's face, the sudden change from light to dark blinding him momentarily. Isaak smirked, taking advantage of the puppetmaster's disorientation to strip him of the white shirt which had been snugly fitted around the younger man's body.

"Chance and opportunity... You just love to exploit them, don't you?" A hand reached up, looping around Isaak's neck, slowly drawing him down. Lips brushed against his, a hint of teeth nipping at skin. This time, it was the magician's turn to smirk.

"You could say that I'm quite the opportunist, if the chance arrives." Dietrich suddenly found Isaak's lips crushed against his, forcing him back down against the pillow. His eyes widened momentarily as he felt a tongue invade his mouth, fingers entwining in chocolate brown hair, tugging sharply on them. Then, without warning, there was a sharp stab of pain in his side. Dietrich's body jerked, instinctively trying to twist away from the pain. His fingers almost instinctively bound Isaak's neck, the monofibres cutting into skin and drawing blood.

Isaak smiled almost maliciously. But yet there was nothing in the magician's hand, although Dietrich could have sworn he had seen a gleam in Isaak's gloved hand. Blood started to leak from the wound, the pain still lingering. "Think of it as... a warning. Or a punishment, if you will. For calling me that." Dietrich felt a sensation, as though a razor was gliding across his stomach. But yet, there was nothing in the magician's hand, although blood started to seem out of the cut. Crimson trickled down his skin and onto white sheets, staining them a bloody red.

Dietrich had touched the wound, his fingers coming away bloody. His lips curled into a smirk, one which didn't even reflect the pain he must have been in. Those fingers tangled in the magician's hair, pulling him down, lips meeting his. Ebony strands cascaded down over them both, mingling with the blood seeping from Dietrich's chest.

"You'll kill me one day, with these things you do."

"Oh, I'm all too aware of that." There was another sharp stab of pain, and blood started seeping from yet another clean slice on the young man's chest. It crisscrossed with the first, and for a moment, Dietrich thought he knew what was going to happen. What was being carved onto his chest. Then there it was, blood starting to seep from a third cut, made so swiftly he hadn't even caught it. The fourth and fifth cut followed, adding more blood to the already fast spreading crimson pool. Dietrich groaned in pain, eyes half-lidded, his chest a bloody mess. The strings he held were tightening, but yet Isaak showed no sign of discomfort.

The magician merely smiled. The knife, decorated with arcane symbols on the hilt, flashed into view in his hand. The blade slowly trailed over the 5 points where the lines intersected, a bloody star carved on on a pale chest. "And yet I continue to allow you to do it." Dietrich's voice was slightly hoarse,

"Even when you have the power to stop me, you don't use it. You enjoy this, don't you?" The knife started to dig into skin, drawing out a pained groan from the puppetmaster. Isaak started to carve the final circles which would complete the pentagram into Dietrich's chest, knife tip pressing painfully deep into the skin. Blood was everywhere now, running all over his chest, on Isaak's arms as well.

Dietrich felt himself getting lightheaded. "I never knew a human could lose so much blood and still survive..."

The magician absently stroked Dietrich's cheek, leaving bloody streaks. "A certain puppeteer could... couldn't he?" Isaak let the knife slip from his fingers, clattering to the ground. Fingers traced the cuts, blood collecting on his finger, and it was with that finger that he teased Dietrich's lips, smearing the crimson liquid all over. Dietrich's eyes opened, his hazel eyes slightly unfocussed, tongue flicking out to taste his own blood.

"Referring to me, Isaak...?" His hand reached up, bloodied fingers curling around the magician's wrist. The magician merely smirked, leaning down, tongue teasing the still bleeding wounds. Most of the blood had become a sticky coating on the puppetmaster's skin. His actions elicited a moan from the young man trapped beneath him, lapping the blood off Dietrich's pale form.

"Oh, most definitely so." Isaak whispered against Dietrich's skin, before teeth clamped down on the bleeding edges of the wound. The puppetmaster cried out in pain, back arching off the bed. His beautiful face contorted in pain. "You look so much more beautiful when you're in pain."

The puppetmaster couldn't answer. Darkness was starting to weave a shroud around his vision. His fingers grasped at Isaak's bloody throat, then slipped, falling limply to his side. "And you always said I was the sadistic one..." Hazel eyes slipped closed. Isaak listened, hearing Dietrich's breathing suddenly even out. A smile tugged at his lips. The young puppetmaster lay unconscious, or asleep, amongst bloody sheets, limbs sprawled almost elegantly. The bleeding wounds on Dietrich's chest hadn't closed, but the bloodflow had slowed. He looked positively like a work of art.

"Oh, if only you could see yourself now. You make such a pretty doll, especially when you've been broken."

Isaak rose to his feet, gathering Dietrich up in his arms. He laughed softly, walking out of the room, taking the puppetmaster with him, vanishing into the darkness.


End file.
